Page 5 of Her Orc Healer

She hummed in vague disagreement, already distracted by the bustle around her. I hitched her higher on my hip, adjusting my grip as I wove through the throng of marketgoers.

The crowd wasn’t thick yet, but it would be soon. By midday, the square would be impossible to navigate, full of travelers stopping in Everwood before heading north for the winter and local farmers eager to sell off the last of their autumn crops before the first frost.

I just needed to be quick.

I shifted my coin pouch to my other hip, making sure the strap was tight. The last thing I needed was some nimble-fingered thief making off with my week’s earnings.

Maeve, meanwhile, had resumed her own personal mission of distraction.

“Look, goat!” she chirped, pointing toward a nearby stall.

“Yes, that is a goat.”

“It has a funny beard.”

“So do half the men in the square.”

She giggled, and despite myself, my lips twitched.

But the moment of amusement faded quickly as my arms began to ache from holding her. She wasn’t small anymore, not really. My little sprout of a girl had grown taller over the last season, her baby fat shifting into something leaner, her steps steadier, her mind quicker.

I should have brought the sling, but it was old, and the seams had begun to fray. And coin was tight enough without adding fabric to the list of things we needed before winter.

So I adjusted my grip again and kept walking.

The press of bodies was thick and cloying, despite the cool autumn breeze. A dull ache pulsed at the base of my skull, just behind my eyes. I blinked hard, willing away the flicker of fatigue creeping along the edges of my vision.

I didn’t have time to be tired.

I rolled my shoulders, shifting Maeve’s weight as I edged toward the nearest stall. The vendor—a thick-armed woman with a salt-streaked braid—was stacking bundles of dried herbs onto her display, her movements quick and practiced.

“Morning, Rowena,” she greeted without looking up.

“Morning, Betha.” I tightened my grip on Maeve as she made an eager grab for a bundle of lavender. “Hands to yourself, May.”

Maeve huffed but obeyed, though her fingers twitched as if the urge to grab things was an unstoppable force of nature.

Betha smirked, giving my niece an appraising look. “She’s getting big.”

“Too big.” I adjusted my hold again, my arms aching. “She’s all elbows these days.”

“I’m growin’,” Maeve announced proudly.

Betha chuckled, plucking a handful of dried petals from a basket and pressing them into Maeve’s waiting hands. “Then here. Something to keep you busy while your mum shops.”

I didn’t correct her. No one in Everwood called me Maeve’s aunt.

Maeve grinned, rolling the petals between her fingers, staining them faintly pink. “Sticky.”

“Good,” Betha said. “Means they’re fresh.”

I exhaled and set Maeve down, grateful for even thirty seconds of distraction. “I need madder root. A full bundle, if you’ve got it.”

“Five silvers.”

I counted them out carefully, my movements a fraction slower than they should have been. The market air was thicker than before, the heat of too many bodies pressing against me, the pulse behind my eyes duller but insistent.

Just get through the errands. Then home.